


Framed Moments

by Prinxe_Procrastinate



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Friendship, Gen, One Shot, Other, no romance whatsoever, totally platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9317165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinxe_Procrastinate/pseuds/Prinxe_Procrastinate
Summary: (Working title.)Drabble(s) with my Hunter in Destiny, since I've wanted to write something about, well, Destiny in general, and what better way than by writing about my own character? If you ask nicely, I could write something you request, even :)





	

My Ghost doesn’t like talking about the day they revived me. I don’t like thinking about that day, either. But, new Guardians are always asking how we met our Ghosts, where we were found, what we had to do to get to the Tower, and safety. Someone has to dissipate the curious newborns.

The star-shaped whisper of the Traveler is awkwardly stumbling through an unhappy, brief, reiteration of the day they found me, deep in Fallen territory, with three newly-revived Guardians listening closely to their tale. I keep myself bent over Cayde-6’s map, pretending to study the layout for the pretend mission I’ll be leaving for soon. Cayde-6 says nothing about my studious acting, instead offering quiet support by gesturing at the map every so often, muttering something about the area.

“Wow, so you two had to fight your way through Fallen knee-deep?! That’s so cool!”

“I can’t wait until I’m as strong as the two of you are!”

“That sounds too dangerous for new Guardians like us. You two must have been extremely lucky.”

Cayde-6 reaches over me, gesturing at my Ghost. “If you three don’t mind, I need to talk to that Ghost  _ with  _ their Guardian.”

Three murmurs, and the Titans and warlock dissipate to busy themselves around the Tower. My little star floats over, settling just half an inch over my outstretched palm. “Thank you, Cayde. Sorry for cluttering your space all the time,” they say, spinning and twirling their shell expressively. I can’t tell what most of the emotions my Ghost has are, but I am glad that they simplify their expressions for me. “We’ll get moving, now.”

“It’s not a problem, Guardian. You and your Ghost be careful out there, now, alright?” Cayde-6 tells us, and I nod, waving with my Ghost-less hand as I walk out of the Vanguard hall. Eris Morn watches as I jog up the stairs, but she says nothing to me, this time. She’s grown to understand my silence, hopefully.

“Well, I guess we might as well go run some patrols on the moon,” my Ghost mutters, once we’re situated in a quiet corner of the plaza, perched on a stack of crates. From here, we can see Guardians both old and new running about, messing around and generally briefly forgetting the horrors of war that are beyond the safety of the Wall. “What do you think? Race your Sparrow with a few others? Join a Fireteam?”

I don’t answer their questions. “Ghost, I don’t think you’ve told me something to call you. Can I give you a name?” I ask quietly, waving at a newer Guardian still clad in whatever armor their Ghost had scraped together. An enthusiastic Hunter eager to punch some Fallen in the face.

They spin in surprise, their segmented shell spinning the individual parts all at once. “You want to name me? Well, I suppose you could. Is there something you wanted to call me?”

“Little Star.” We look at each other. It isn’t often I speak so much, and my Ghost knows this. They always listens closely. For some reason, I feel as if I hadn’t been listened to often in my past life, whatever that had been. My Ghost fills the unexplainable void in my frame. “When I first saw you, I thought you looked like a little star that had fallen to Earth.”

This time, they bounce their shell a bit, in what I’ve come to learn is hardly-restrained excitement. “Oh, yes, that’s a great name! I love it! You can call me Little Star, Guardian!”

I rub a finger softly against their shell. They lean into the touch, the Ghost equivalent of a purr coming from their small body. A sudden rush of protective code floods my system; the urge to protect and save this little star from the world is strong, sudden, unexpected, but not necessarily unwanted. If I had to, I would do anything to keep my Little Star safe from harm. Maybe I don’t deserve to help save the universe, or the galaxy, or whatever, but my Ghost deserves far better than I do.


End file.
